


and when it comes, it will feel like a kiss

by saturnsringpops



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: All mistakes are mine, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Irondad & Spiderson, Not A Fix-It, Peter-centric, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sad Peter Parker, Unbeta'd, and by episode i mean the whole series, enjoy, i didn't kill may, i'm in my feelings, ignore the mistakes please, ngl this is pretty sad, not exactly irondad centric but very irondad heavy, on the bright side, on this episode of "peter parker loses everyone", this is a mess but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnsringpops/pseuds/saturnsringpops
Summary: “I don’t want him to leave.” Peter whispered softly, tears welling in his eyes. May had begun crying again, and this time, she tugged him into a tight hug.“I know, honey. I know.”





	and when it comes, it will feel like a kiss

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! welcome to yet another one of my angst fics. oops. well, i hope you enjoy. and please, ignore the mistakes. i wrote this in a rush

)-(

He was only four years old when he experienced loss for the first time.

Peter, obviously, was far too young when it happened for him to have retained any important or sentimental memories. If he thinks hard enough, he can conjure up blurry images of brown hair, a warm smile, and a soft, feminine voice. He likes to think that there’s some piece of his mother that’s still a part of him, past his DNA. He doesn’t remember either of them much, if at all, but the idea of a mother has always been something of a dream to him. Like a goal you’ve wanted all your life, but have no way to achieve. His father is harder to remember, but Peter thinks that he was the kind, proud type. Someone who maybe would have wanted Peter to play football when he grew older.

So, he doesn’t really remember his parents. May tells him about them whenever he gets curious enough to ask; his mother was soft, with a big heart. His father was a stubborn man but never a cruel one. She tells him about the days they’d spend -- him, May, his parents, and Ben -- just watching old movies, or going out to lunch or going to the park. May always makes sure to finish her stories with “and they loved you so, so much Peter. They would be so proud of you.” and sometimes, he believes her. Most of the time he just longs for the opportunity to find out if it would be true.

There’s a picture of him and the two of them sitting on a bookshelf in the living room. It’s dusty, since it’s among dozens of worn books and old movies. Like a ritual, he smiles at it whenever he passes it, as if they’re actually sitting there and he’s smiling at them, instead.

“Do you really think so?” Peter asks, a little abruptly, one night as him and May are sat at the dinner table. Ben is working a late night, as he often does. May glances up in surprise, but it smooths out into a fond-and-a-little-bit-sad kind of look. He doesn’t have to finish the question for her to understand (sometimes, he wonders if mind reading is a superpower she possesses) but he continues anyway. “That they’d be proud of me?” 

The plastic fork that had come with their Chinese takeout is set onto the tablecloth, and May leans forward onto her elbows. Her eyes are somehow both soft and intense as she looks at him.

“I don’t think so, Peter. I _know_ so.”

There’s a short pause, time passing in pure silence as Peter contemplates it. May wouldn’t lie to him, even to spare his feelings, and especially not about something like this. So he smiles gratefully at her and nods just a bit.

“Okay.”

)-(

Peter was only eight years old when it happened again.

May’s face was tear-streaked and red when she picked him up from school that day. It was a few hours before the school day was actually over, so Peter had known immediately that something was wrong. 

His hands were still smudged with red ink, courtesy of a pen he’d been using to doodle Iron Man in one of his notebooks. Usually, May would reprimand him for it as his hands wrapped around the seatbelt, tucking it into place, but the woman was eerily silent. That alone made unease settle into his stomach. At the ripe age of eight years old, he was smart enough to know something was very wrong.

“Peter--” Her voice broke off immediately, body sharply tensing. It had taken him until he was fifteen to realize she had been forcing back waves of gut-wrenching sobs.

“May?” Peter asked tentatively. He reached out a small hand to rest of her arm, trying to offer comfort for something he didn’t yet understand. He just wanted May to stop looking so sad, so _heartbroken_.

She laid one of her own hands over his and squeezed. It felt as if she was clinging to him like a lifeline. “Peter, baby... something happened. With Ben.” The pain in her voice made worry flare up inside his chest like someone had lit a fire. “He’s going to be--” She paused. May tells him now that she had no idea how to explain to him, an eight year old who’d already lost his parents at an early age, that his uncle was now gone, too. “He’s somewhere safe, now. Where nothing can ever hurt him again.” 

“Why? Where did he go?” Peter asked, confused. Why would Ben just leave them?

May looked at him with tears swimming in her eyes and offered him a smile that wobbled around the edges. “Because sometimes, when there’s really bad people in the world, the good people get hurt. And when they get really hurt, they… they have to leave. Because it’s not safe for them here anymore.”

( _“I should have told you straight out.” May sighs, face pressed into her hands. “You were obviously smart enough to figure it out-- I mean, for God’s sake, you were eight, and you’ve always been smart for your age.”_

_“It’s not any easy thing to do.” Peter assures her. They’re sitting on the couch, only about a foot between them, a blanket draped over both of their bodies. He gently knocks his shoulder into hers, trying to get her to smile. It works, even if her smile is weak._

_“I know. It just… it probably would have been better for you, in the long run. I shielded you too much. I was just always scared, with everything you’d already went through. I didn’t want you to see the world as something that could only ever be bad.”_ )

It settled then, what she meant. Ben wasn’t coming back from whatever safe place he’d managed to find. It confused Peter more than anything for a second; the _why who what where_ buzzing around in his mind like it always did upon receiving new information. But then, it hurt. The reality that Ben was gone, _forever_ , was like a knife to the chest.

“I don’t want him to leave.” Peter whispered softly, tears welling in his eyes. May had begun crying again, and this time, she tugged him into a tight hug.

“I know, honey. I know.”

)-(

Peter was only seventeen years old, just beginning to get control over his borderline chaotic life, when it was taken away from him.

The bug-like woman with black eyes and large antennae was the first one to go. She looked helplessly at the other two (the angry oldies-loving dude and the grey-skinned, tattooed man), the words _something is coming_ barely crossing her lips before her figure was rapidly reduced to dust.

Peter watched in blatant horror at the display. The remnants of her body swirled through the air, almost like a taunting reminder of what Peter had just been forced to witness. _Is she… is she **dead**?_

Soon, the woman’s companions followed suit, all becoming something akin to the contents of an ashtray. Nausea and fear gripped Peter like a vice. He glanced desperately to Mr.Stark, the man he’d come to see as less of a mentor and more as a father figure, only to find that the expression on the man’s face mirrored his own.

_What’s going on?_

As Peter stepped forward, maybe to ask _what the hell was happening_ , or to just be closer to Mr.Stark because that meant _safe_ and he was feeling the exact opposite of _safe_ , when he felt it.

The nausea spreading, strengthening. His vision swimmed as the sickly, painful feeling seeped into his arms; his legs. 

“I don’t feel so good.” Peter mumbled, feeling dizzy. His balance failed him suddenly as he stumbled toward Mr.Stark, who, now with his attention solely on Peter, caught him immediately.

“I don’t kn-- I don’t know what’s happening.”

He gripped Tony desperately, clinging to him like a frightened child as his legs gave out completely. Tony held him just as tight; so tight that Peter could feel the tremor in his fingertips.

Realization dawned on him, as slowly and painfully as the feeling spreading throughout his entire body. Why else would he suddenly be feeling like he was approaching death?

Because he _was_.

He was dying, exactly how the others had. It was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over him. He tightened his grip on Mr.Stark and began to plead, voice trembling with pain and weakness and _fear_.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, Mr.Stark, _please_ ,” He begged, words tripping over each other in his desperation to get them out. Tears began to well up in his eyes. _Mr.Stark wouldn’t let anything happen to him, he wouldn’t let Peter die._

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” Tony repeated, though the fear in his voice betrayed his true thoughts. He said it so softly, like maybe if he gently spoke it into the world, fate would change its mind and spare Peter. But fate was not a kind thing, and Peter could feel his body slowly giving up on him.

Tony took a few steps backward, Peter’s entire body weight weighing down on him. He nearly tripped and set Peter down onto the ground as gently as possible, eyes watching him with denial mixed with pure terror.

Consciousness was becoming less and less easy to hold onto. His focus shifted away from Mr.Stark, leaning over him and looking like he was about to cry. Peter’s eyes rolled and met the sunset-colored sky above them. His throat was too tight, mind too distant to continue pleading. All he could feel was _pain_. Like his body was being ripped apart, molecule by molecule.

Finally, when the world began to blur, and he could no longer make anything out but the mere shape of Tony’s silhouette, he turned to meet Tony’s eyes (or where he thought they were, anyway) and inhaled sluggishly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and he meant it. Sorry for disobeying him and coming onto the spaceship anyway. Sorry for putting himself in danger. Sorry for all the times he’d messed up, or didn’t follow directions, or almost caused someone to get hurt.

_And if you die… I feel like that’s on me._

Sorry for not only dying, but dying in Tony’s arms, like that man had blatantly confessed that he would blame on himself.

 _It’s not your fault,_ Peter wanted to say, but he could no longer make his mouth work. Instead, he finally let go, and allowed the pain to consume him.

The world was a smear of oranges and yellows, before it faded to black.

)-(

Coming back to life was a lot different than he’d expected, to say the least.

Like waking up from an especially-long nap, Peter opened his eyes. It had felt like only moments ago he was looking up at this exact same sky, except instead of feeling weak and dizzy and in pain, he felt… normal. Almost as if nothing had happened.

However, Tony was nowhere to be found.

Peter abruptly sat up and scanned the area, searching for that familiar glint of red vibranium. Instead, the people that surrounded him were the ones that he’d seen fade to ash. It was reversed, then. Or at least that’s what he assumed. He wasn’t even sure what had happened in the first place; could only guess that somehow, some way, Thanos had met his goal.

It takes around twenty-something minutes, a lot of frustrated directions from Dr. Strange, and a walk through a literal _portal_ before Peter is met with familiar faces again.

He recognizes Captain America and Thor immediately. Cap looks battered, standing on unstable feet as he brandishes his shield and-- is that _Thor’s hammer_? He looks tired, and hurt, but determined. Thor is shakily standing up from the ground, but when his eyes glow a sharp, electric blue, Peter knows he’s okay.

For a moment, the hero-worship he’s accustomed to feeling around these people flares up. Then, he sees the heroes gathering around him, and he knows now isn’t the time. They have a fight to win.

)-(

When he finally, _finally_ sees Tony again, the relief is damn near crushing.

He quickly shoots out a web and yanks the huge alien away from Mr.Stark. It barely takes a hint of his strength to toss it, and then, he’s quickly making his way over to the man he thought might have been dead.

The look on Tony’s face probably should have stopped him from beginning to ramble, but honestly, he didn’t think he could have stopped if he tried. So he talked; let loose everything he’d wanted to say since he woke up and Tony wasn’t there. And Tony… just listens. And watches Peter like he’s the first beacon of light the man’s seen in years.

Peter’s tugged forward into a hug, and that fact in itself shocks him enough to make him hesitate. _Mr.Stark is…. hugging him._ A real, actual hug. He’s definitely not grabbing the door for him this time. He freezes for a moment, because that fact alone is enough to make anyone do a double take. But Tony continues hugging him like he’ll die if he doesn’t, and finally, Peter wraps his arms around the man and hugs him back.

“This is nice.” He mumbles, and Tony laughs almost disbelievingly against him.

)-(

Peter is only seventeen years old, supposed to be twenty two, when his world shatters once again.

It doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise. Being a superhero, as everyone knows, is dangerous. It’s a lifestyle surrounded by pain, loss, and death. When you become a superhero, it’s like signing your name on a contract that says life is only going to get ten times worse from now on. Peter had signed it when he became Spider-Man. Just as Tony did, several and several years prior, when he had become Iron Man. 

Being a superhero meant having to be prepared to lose someone you care about. Being a superhero meant having to be prepared to be the one lost, yourself. Sometimes, it meant having to be prepared for both at the same time.

And now, Peter was painstakingly aware that he was indeed in that exact situation.

Maybe there had been a part of him so immersed in denial that he had genuinely believed Tony was indestructible. The starry-eyed, Iron Man idolizing part that saw Tony as someone immortal; incapable of falling at the hands of any bad guy that wanted to harm him.

Tony always survived _everything_.

Peter landed roughly on his feet, every part of his attention fixed on Tony. Tony, who was lying on the ground, his own crafted Infinity Gauntlet only a foot or so away from him. There was blood, _so much blood_ , and Peter _knew_. Knew from the moment that Tony didn’t even react to Rhodey speaking to him, didn’t so much as _blink_ …

That maybe, Tony wasn’t going to survive this one.

Still, something in him desperately clung to the hope that his mentor, his teacher, his practical _dad_ would be okay. So he padded forward and knelt in front of Tony, even as he felt his heart breaking.

“Mr.Stark, can you hear me? It’s me, Peter.” He tried. Tony’s eyes shifted, just barely, toward him, and that would have given Peter hope if the look in them wasn’t so far away. “Hey… we won, Mr.Stark.”

Taking a breath, Peter focused one ear on Tony’s heartbeat. The sluggish _thump thump, thump thump_ grounded him just enough to continue.

“We won-- you did it, sir. You did it.”

Tears had begun to trail down his face without his permission. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been crying for.

When Tony didn’t make any move, any noise, to indicate that he had heard Peter, Rhodey gently pulled Peter away. He went without complaint, feeling like his chest was caving in.

Pepper knelt in front of Tony. Peter could see the shine of tears on her face. He didn’t want to think about her expression, because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to contain the rush of pure agony that he was just barely holding back.

He tuned out what she was saying for their privacy, as silly as it was, and instead fully focused on Tony’s heartbeat.

_Thump thump, thump thump._

Rhodey let out a soft, broken sound. Thor squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.

_Thump, thump thump._

Pepper’s voice, as quiet as it was, rung like a scream in the near silent air.

_Thump… thump…_

A strangled sob broke free, and Peter didn’t even look up when a warm hand rested gently on his shoulder.

_Thump._

Pepper leaned forward to kiss Tony on the cheek.

No sounds filled the air.

And finally, Peter broke.

**Author's Note:**

> so no one told you life was gonna be this way--
> 
> (come yell at me!  
> discord: rue luvs peter 3000#3274  
> tumblr: midtownspiderkid  
> instagram: rainctys)
> 
> feedback, as always, is appreciated <3


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